


Rumor Has It

by Eissel



Series: Reasons Why East HQ was Happy to See Team Mustang Leave [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Coffee, Crack, Drinking, East HQ is 100 per cent done with the team’s shit, Episodic Work, Every single person that has to deal with these idiots deserves an award, Gambling, Gen, Gen Work, Hakuro is an Asshole and everyone enjoys ripping on him, Havoc has the luck of the gods to keep winning these betting pools, Maes is an enabler that only survives because of his spidey-sense for danger, Military Jargon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Riza is the Lone Sane (Wo)man, Rumors, Swearing, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, This gets updated as I feel inspired, Work In Progress, because you know Roy wouldn’t let get away with HALF the shit they do otherwise, so don’t hold your breath for a regular schedule, the entire team only functions because of coffee, world of snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissel/pseuds/Eissel
Summary: Or... Team Mustang has too much free time (and money) on their hands, and they need to get rid of itsomehowin a way that doesn't involve illegal activity (for once).A loose collection of one-shots focusing on the shenanigans the Team had while they were stationed at Eastern Command
Relationships: Heymans Breda & Vato Falman & Kain Fuery & Jean Havoc & Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye & Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye & Team Mustang, Roy Mustang & Team Mustang
Series: Reasons Why East HQ was Happy to See Team Mustang Leave [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553233
Comments: 14
Kudos: 212





	1. Rumor #1 - Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This is what you get when you add a sleep deprived author who wants to put the idea of working on a presentation as far from her mind as possible, so thank my knock-off-philosophy class for this chapter!
> 
> (Also, TIL that apparently when your cheeks turn red when it’s cold out, it’s because your blood vessels are dilating so much that they burst)
> 
> CW: Mention of drugs/drug use near the end

This was done _purely_ to knock two birds out with one well placed giant boulder. 

The first bird was a rumor about the fact that the Colonel didn’t blush (Supposedly, if there was any physical evidence, Hughes wasn’t telling, and it was safer to just not broach the subject with Hawkeye). The Team was hoping that the snow would force the paler man to blush, or at the very least, force his skin to look slighter more dark than “blank sheet of copy paper.” 

As for the second bird…

Under normal circumstances (read: when Hawkeye wasn’t sick) , they would never _dare_ carry this out, even just to sate their curiosity. However, this _wasn’t_ under normal circumstances, and besides, payback unto their superior officer was long overdue.

(They had a list going in the office, currently Falman had the most grief with the raven haired man, beating out even Havoc with his impressive trail of stolen girlfriends. Apparently the Colonel also liked to grab random books from Falman’s collection to add to his own, which forced everyone to ponder if Mustang was secretly a kleptomaniac, but then when they realized it was mostly scientific texts with a few spiritual ones peppered in, it was chalked up to: Alchemists are fucking crazy, and we shouldn’t question their behavior, which, coincidentally, most of Mustang’s quirks eventually ended up being categorized as.)

Ignoring for a moment, the fact that Mustang was an alchemist, and so any revenge he would and could extract would probably lay them in the hospital for weeks, the man was also a cheerful sadist (ever since the Spring Incident of 1911, they hypothesized that the trait had started showing after Mustang met Hughes and began their reign of terror at the Academy), and under _normal_ conditions had them regularly doing near suicidal missions just to “keep them on their toes”, nevermind what fuckery he would think up when actually pissed off. 

And putting their CO in the snow for kicks and cenz was rapidly passing into “not normal circumstances” territory; Hell, they had passed it several _years_ ago and had just never bothered to look back.

Now, _normally_ , for fear of their lives (and of reprisal from angry coworkers that would have to deal with a bitchy Mustang and an annoyed Hawkeye), the Team generally left the Colonel and his spontaneous naps alone.

But then some bright eyed, bushy tailed FNG decided to fuck up the delicate balance by uttering just a few simple words: 

“Rumor has it that Mustang can sleep anywhere.”

And that was that. Anyone who knew the men that comprised Mustang’s team knew that they all had a bad case of the betting bug. If a bet was running in East HQ it was a sure thing that at least one of them was in on it, if not outright running it. 

So that simple rumor was what led 4 full grown adult men to be carrying yet another fully grown (though some would claim that this was debatable) man between them out into the snow. 

“Fuck, how is he so goddamn _heavy?!_ ” Havoc groused, shifting Mustang’s body so that the man lay flat on his back. “He looks like he weighs all of like 100 pounds normally! Plus he’s _so fucking_ **_short._ **”

“Shut the fuck up Havoc, you’re gonna wake him up.” Breda elbowed him. “We’re almost to the door, you are _not_ fucking this for me.”

“It’s strange though, even the Colonel doesn’t sleep this heavily normally.” Falman muttered as he avoided a boot to the head.

“Oh, Hawkeye’s been slipping him sleeping pills in his coffee.” Fuery said nonchalantly. 

“Wait, _what?!_ ” Havoc sputtered, nearly dropping Mustang in the process. “She’s been fuckin’ _drugging him?!_ And getting _away_ with it!?” Everyone leveled a deadpan look at the tall blond, who blushed as he realized what he had implied. If Riza Hawkeye wanted to drug her CO, there was damn well nothing on God’s green earth that was going to _stop_ her, especially if said CO didn’t even know he was being drugged. 

“That just begs the question as to why and how she knows how much medication would send the Colonel under.” Breda said, as he carefully maneuvered down the last staircase. “Besides, she _wants_ him to do work, not skive off, you’d think she’d slip him stimulants, not try and knock him out.”

“In her defense, she only started doing it recently, about the time she came in sick.” The men paused in their movements to share a sympathetic thought with Hawkeye, who was currently holed up in her apartment reading a murder mystery novel and sipping on honey sweetened chamomile tea. 

“To be fair, out of all of us, he _does_ mother hen over her the most.”

“Do you remember the _last_ time I ended up in the ER? Fuck, he told me to “stop acting like a baby Havoc, it’s a broken leg, walk it off!” I had to _fight him_ over it! But _Hawkeye?!_ No, she got a _scrape_ and he shoved his coat onto her and looked like he was about to reinvent medical alchemy just for her! Fuck, maybe the man’s just inhuman, it would explain so _goddamn much._ ” 

Fuery winced, the team’s field to desk ratio had always been _off,_ but with his recent addition, most of the officers in Mustang’s inner circle were information and comms specialists, leaving Havoc, Hawkeye, and Mustang to pick up the slack whenever they were called out for fieldwork, resulting in days where those three members of the team came back looking like they had been run over by trucks while the rest of them looked perfectly healthy.

Finally, they made it outside, and apparently Mother Nature was just having an off fucking day or something because it was freezing outside, rivalling Briggs freezing. 

Now, faced with a blizzard the likes of which only hit East City every other century or so, most sane people would shrug their shoulders, call it a day, and harass their CO another day.

Team Mustang, was not made up of sane people.

So they dumped their CO into the snow, locked the doors, and waited for the telltale sounds of Roy Mustang waking up, and when they heard nothing, heaved a sigh of relief, and quickly got the _hell out of dodge._

Sure, whatever poor intern was on door duty was in for a helluva scare, but quite frankly, none of the men really wanted to deal with the unholy (read: bratty) terror that was Roy Mustang when soaked to the bone. 

* * *

It was nearly 6 hours later when Mustang deigned to walk back into his own goddamn office, and by that time, the men were just about ready to pack it up as a failure.

“So, does anyone want to tell me why, when I was woken up, an intern helpfully informed me that I was found face down in a snowdrift?” 

“Colonel, we’re not paid to babysit you. That’s Hawkeye’s job.” Breda deadpanned. “When we _got here_ you were nowhere to be found.” 

Now, this was complete and total horseshit, and _they_ knew it. People downstairs knew it, if you stopped a random recruit _they’d_ probably know it.

Fuck, people in _Central_ probably knew it was horseshit, because there was no way in hell that Mustang had arrived _earlier_ than anyone else, _especially_ if Hawkeye was out sick.

Under normal circumstances, this would have set off Mustang’s BS detector and it would’ve been going off like crazy, but considering that the man had just:

  * Woken up in a snow drift
  * Apparently taken a side trip to go get coffee
  * Was soaked to the bone
  * And looked to be about 5 seconds away from total collapse



It would be a miracle if he was even vaguely skeptical about Breda’s response. 

In any case, the State Alchemist stared blearily at his team, and staggered into his office, slamming the door behind him. 

“Bullet dodged.” Fuery said, abandoning his pile of scrap metal wires. “So Falman, how’d he look? Was he blushing?” The tall man thought for a second. 

“He wasn’t blushing, however, his skin had darkened a few shades.”

“Shit man, are the Xingese from whereeverthefuck he’s from just resistant to cold, or fuckin’ what?” Falman shrugged in response to Havoc’s question. 

“I would love to answer, but as you so eloquently put it, we have no idea where he, or his parents are from.” Breda rolled his eyes. 

“Whatever, so the man darkened up a few tones, whoopdeedoo, what _important_ is that he walked in here looking like death warmed over, _and_ he had had to be woken up by some poor intern- who we’re sending a present, fuck they must be traumatized-which means that not even being dumped into snow for over _5 goddamn hours_ was able to wake him up.”

“Those sleeping pills must be something else.” Fuery said. “I mean, he _still_ looked tired. Are we certain she didn’t dump like, tranquilizer into his coffee?”

“Well he likes it like heroine Fuery, 100%.” Kain wrinkled his nose. 

“So, black?” The other three men shared a look and burst into laughter. 

“Oh, you poor kid. The Colonel doesn’t just take it _black,_ oh no, he’s a special kind of insane where he alchemizes the caffeine out, dumps that into another cuppa black, and adds alcohol before downing it.” Fuery looked at them discerningly before shrugging. 

“It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s done. Anyways, if he’s going to knock himself out, I say we pack up.” The team nodded as one, and quietly cleared out the office, flicking the lights off as they did so. 

* * *

The next day, one situation was quietly crossed off the betting pool list, the team walked into the office each a few hundred cenz richer, and a few interns walked away to cry their sorrows out to their Team Mustang-hardened friends. 


	2. Coffee Cups, Battery Acid, and 10,000 Cenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumor #2: Lieutenant Hawkeye's coffee is cursed. It always tastes awful, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For returning readers: No, you aren't hallucinating, Chapter 2 _is_ different than how you remembered it! That's because I ended up being super unsatisfied with the previous Ch. 2 after some re-reading and revising, so instead we have coffee shenanigans!

_ Fall, 1910  _

Jean Havoc slammed a wad of cash down on the table of the soldiers who were gossiping in the mess and thought they were being quiet. "I bet 5,000 cenz on Hawkeye's coffee not always tasting like the bad end of a bullet."

"Oh, and you can back it up?" Asked one cocky little shit of a private who clearly had no idea who Havoc was and who he worked with. "I have 10,000 cenz saying that it  _ does  _ in fact, always taste like shit." His friends groaned around him, and prepared for the inevitable fallout.

"Oh can I  _ back it up _ ?" Havoc smiled. "Lemme tell you a story."

_ Spring, 1910 _

Havoc watched stoicly as Hawkeye refilled the coffee pot. As she finished, and walked away, the blond sharpshooter immediately crumpled to the ground.

"What did I do to deserve this…?" 

"You perved on Lieutenant Catalina or some other chick last night, didn't you?" Havoc leveled a glare at Breda, which just made the other man laugh uproariously. "This is karma Jean, sweet, sweet karma."

"You're just saying that because you hate coffee."

"Tea is more refined anyways." Breda sniffed and Havoc had to restrain himself from knocking his best (?) friend ( **_???_ ** ) over. 

"If she had filled the pot with tea you wouldn't be acting so high and mighty."

"But she did Havoc, and, unless you want to be falling asleep at the desk today, you're gonna have to drink it, at least until someone else comes by to refill the pot."

"I don't necessarily have to be the one to drink it." Jean argued, because he was still in heavy denial. Breda snorted.

"No one else drinks first pot coffee, you fuckin' freak. No one else  _ needs  _ first pot coffee."

"Okay that's bullshit and you know it, or did you forget Mustang's spontaneous cases of narcolepsy?"

"He's an outlier and shouldn't be counted.” Breda deadpanned. “Besides, have  _ you  _ ever seen him drink from the pot? I’m fairly certain he either skives off to go beg off a cup from the lady who runs the shop of 5th and Wright, or he brings some from home." 

"Alright, fair." Havoc grumbled. "But I'm not drinking that. It will sear me from the inside out Breda! It will actually punch a hole _through_ my stomach. I _will_ **_die_** if I drink that."

"Stop being a baby." Havoc glared at Breda again, and walked over to the pot. He carefully pried the lid off and poured a steady stream of black coffee into a mug. 

“You drink it then.” Havoc grumbled. “If you’re  _ so  _ confident that it won’t immediately kill you.” 

“Or, we wait for Falman and Fuery to show up.”

“You’d inflict Hawkeye’s coffee onto the  _ kid _ ? Breda, what the actual hell.” Havoc stared at his (again, doubtful) best friend in pure horror. “Breda,  _ are you trying to go jail.  _ Kain’s like a baby, forget  _ me  _ dying, the moment he walks into the room he will smell these fumes and  _ keel over. _ ” 

Breda eyed him exasperatedly. 

“ _ Fine _ , then give it to Falman, but I am  _ not  _ drinking your damn sewage water.” Havoc shot him another glare, and walked out from the break room and slammed the door shut behind him. Walking over to the office, he fiddled with the door as he awkwardly tried to make sure the coffee wasn’t about to spill. 

“Second Lieutenant?” Havoc nearly jumped, and turned to face the voice with a terse smile. 

“ _ Yes _ , Falman?”

“I was just wondering why you seem so intent on both not letting that coffee spill,  _ and  _ also on making sure it gets nowhere near your mouth.”

“Hawkeye’s coffee.”

“You  _ took the First Lieutenant’s coffee? _ ” Vato looked at him like he was either deeply impressed or scared for the future of his masculinity. The looks in conjunction with Hawkeye’s go to form of discipline (i.e. Her pistol) had a tendency to blend together, and Jean wasn’t about to waste his time figuring out which was which.

(He had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter though) 

“ _ No. _ I took the first cup from a batch of coffee that the Lieutenant  _ made. _ ” He elaborated. “And I don’t want it anywhere near my mouth because it  _ will  _ kill me.” Vato gave him a look that bordered somewhere on “You should visit a psychiatrist”, and “I’ve clearly worked for too long, it’s time to harass Mustang into giving me leave for a month.” 

Strangely enough, those looks  _ also  _ tended to blend together whenever someone did something that would make Hawkeye go for her pistol. 

“Did you flirt with Lieutenant Catalina again?” Falman asked flatly.

“Why does everyone think I was flirting with her last night?” Havoc asked in exasperation as he  _ finally  _ got the door open. “Sure, she’s hot, but there are other fish in the sea!”

“It’s likely because of the fact that whenever you two have a spat, you act like a married couple.” Havoc shot Falman a dirty look as the graying man sat down at his desk. 

“We do  _ not! _ ” Jean cried out, and set the mug on Falman’s desk, the aforementioned man glancing up at him. 

“I’m not drinking that.”

“So you  _ do  _ agree that it’s probably poison!”

“No, because as much as the First Lieutenant is capable in everything she does, every cup of coffee she brews makes  _ alchemists  _ flinch.” 

“Then I’ll offload it onto Mustang then!” Havoc declared. “You know that man won’t refuse anything from Hawkeye!” 

“What about Hawkeye?” Havoc turned around with a grin, seeing as their CO had just entered the room, looking like he’d gone on a hellish bender last night. Glancing down at the mug, Havoc briefly wondered if he should be giving a man in Mustang’s state what very well might be actual poison…

But then again Falman  _ did  _ say that the coffee was bracing, not  _ poison _ , and there was little to 0 chance that Hawkeye would make something that would kill the Colonel.

Possibly. 

Either way, not his problem, and he pushed the mug into Mustang’s hand. 

“Oh, Hawkeye just told me to give this to you when I saw you.” Havoc smiled brightly. 

“Well, that’s good of her.” Mustang muttered tiredly, and downed it. Havoc blinked at him wondering if Mustang had no self preservation instinct… Which in context of everything the man had done, tracked well enough. “Well, she’s gotten better at least. I’m not tasting battery acid in this brew.”

Which raised  _ all kinds of questions _ , ones that Havoc  _ was not paid well enough to ask.  _

“Wait, he said  _ battery acid.  _ What the fuck?”

* * *

_ Summer, 1910 _

Havoc stared at the coffeepot. 

“Just pour you big baby.” Breda said from behind him, nursing a thermos. “If you don’t hurry it up, Hawkeye will actually put a bullet through you.”

“So death by coffee or death by gun. At least the gun will be quick.” He muttered, and poured himself a cup. “Hey, it didn’t melt it! That’s progress!” Breda gave him a look that was screaming at him to just drink it before the other man poured it down his throat for him. 

Havoc, being the smart man he was, wasn’t about to risk his best friend’s wrath, and took a sip. 

And then he took another. 

“There is no way this was made by Hawk.” He announced, setting the cup down. Breda gave him a deeply unimpressed look. 

“I saw her, in here,  _ this  _ morning, so unless you’re telling me that she has a doppelgänger, yes, yes she did.”

“This tastes  _ good  _ Breda.”

“Maybe she improved Jean, it’s not the end of the fucking world.”

_ Fall, 1910  _

* * *

Jean smirked at the private. “So there, proof that Hawkeye’s coffee, has, if anything, gotten  _ better _ .”

“That’s not proof, that’s a story.”

“Well, then I’ll  _ give  _ you proof.” Havoc got up from the table, and disappeared from the mess hall, only to come back with two cups of steaming hot black coffee. 

“Made by Hawkeye herself.” Jean grinned, setting them down on the table. “Drink up.” The men around the table all traded looks, before the private who had made the original bet picked up a cup, and nudged the guy beside him. 

Then they drank. 

After about 10 seconds after the cups had been drained, Havoc found himself 10,000 cenz richer. 

* * *

“Riza, you’ve gotten better at brewing coffee. This doesn’t make me want to treat it as a potentially hazardous waste product.” Roy commented as he sipped at his own cup. 

“No I haven’t.” 

“You made this cup though.”

“I paid someone else to do it for me. Besides, I have more important things to do than brew coffee in the mornings.”

“That really isn’t the purpose of the rotation Riza.” Roy chuckled. “But whatever you say.”

“Says the man who pushes his own rotation day off onto Havoc.”

“That’s because no one apprecia tes my brews.”

“Because you put scotch and salt in your coffee Sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said this was based off a real ass incident in my Econ class, but with tea and coffee, which resulted in postponing our lecture on international trade for a lecture on not adding herbal teas to dark roast coffee. 
> 
> Econ students are, universally, on fucking crack.
> 
> Additional: Ed once stole Roy’s coffee, and the resulting caffeine high sent East HQ into lockdown until he finally calmed down over 8 hours later.
> 
> He was banned from drinking coffee from that day forward as the resulting amount of personnel that had to be sent to therapy was unsustainable from a day-to-day perspective.
> 
> Al can handle it just fine though.


	3. 2.5: You Can't Have it Both Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumor 2.5: The soldiers of Eastern have very strong opinions on who makes the best brew. It gets so bad that Eastern Command has a dedicated newspaper column for it. This week’s featured opinions belong to Team Mustang.
> 
> (Extra - 2.6: Mustang likes both just fine, but jokingly joins the rivalry on the side of coffee. When this is found out, there are consequences to be had.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was playing Lobtomy Corporation again to prep for when I finally drop money on Library of Ruina, and I had almost forgotten how much I adore (and hate because FUCK his Core Suppression) Chessed. Also, I’ve been working on the FMA Big Bang, (and some...other projects...) hence my absence. I’ll be attempting to write some more for this fic, but (as always) no guarantees for when the next chapter will be out.
> 
> Also, I had the urge to write Kain as a petty little shit.

“Lieutenant, do I really  _ have  _ to be the one to guide the Elrics around the base?”

“You  _ are  _ the one with the least amount of workload Master Sergeant.” Hawkeye said, straight face fully in place, because even she knew that was bullshit. Out of everyone in the office, she  _ easily  _ had the least amount of work left to do, yes it was more time intensive, but:

  1. It was Hawkeye
  2. Her “work” consisted of forging Mustang’s signature, which she could do in her sleep
  3. Her rate of completion was far and away the highest out of the whole team.



No, they were just picking on him for being the “baby” of the team. Well, fuck ‘em. He gave her an unimpressed look, and she studiously refused to look him in the eye. “The Elrics will be here in a few minutes. You should go get ready.” She gave him a smile, and sped off. 

Fuery only stared after her retreating back, and held back the urge to book it out of the base. After all, as fast as he was, not even he would be able to run from Hawkeye’s guns or Mustang’s fire, and he  _ liked  _ being hale and whole,  _ thank you very much.  _

He heaved a sigh, and walked up to reception to greet the Elrics and hurried ferret them away before anyone realized that they were part of Mustang’s team. That would be a very bad situation indeed. 

(After all, they weren’t on mission, there was no need to fill out  _ another  _ slot on the chart just yet)

“Morning Ed, Al.” He said as they walked into the Command Center. 

“Morning Master Sergeant!” Al chirped. Ed only grunted. 

“Not a morning person?” Fuery chuckled, happily ignoring his own coffee addiction- which think of it, it was only 9 in the morning, he could probably sneak another cup- 

“No, Brother doesn’t function very well without caffeine in him. Or, well, he used to, but then Teacher got him hooked.”

“Well, if I do say so myself, we have a pretty good coffee machine at Eastern, just don’t let Hawkeye brew you a cup.” He grinned. “Let’s stop by there first.” He led them to the break room closest to the Colonel’s office, snagging a paper from the newspaper rack, flipping directly to the 5th page. Edward made a beeline for the coffee pot, and started pouring. Fuery raised an eyebrow, but didn’t bother to stop him. 

(Who  _ was _ he to stop him anyways? Ed was the Colonel’s and Hawkeye’s problem. Not his. And this  _ totally  _ wasn’t petty revenge for landing him with this babysitting job, oh _ no _ .)

“What are you reading Mst. Sgt.?” Alphonse asked from beside him. Fuery stopped himself from jumping (what the  _ hell  _ how was a fucking suit of  _ armor  _ so silent?), and forced out a chuckle. 

“Just call me Fuery, you’re not in the military Al. But I’m just reading through the base’s newspaper. It comes out weekly, our team’s featured in a column this time around.”

“What’s the column about?”

“Who makes the best coffee on base.” He didn’t look directly at Al, but he had a feeling that the boy was looking at him with disappointment and confusion anyways. “The soldiers on base can get a bit…  _ opinionated  _ let’s just say about who makes their coffee.” He hummed as he glanced through the column, reading through his teammates’ opinions (sacrilegious ones, in his own opinion, but other people were allowed to be wrong). 

_ Mst. Sgt. Kain Fuery: “Well, in my opinion, the best coffee maker in our team is me. Everyone else makes it far too bitter, and don’t get me started on Hawkeye. No offense to our dear First Lieutenant, but her coffee is practically battery acid. Warrant Officer Falman and Colonel Mustang are tied for second in my mind. The Colonel’s coffee doesn’t  _ **_taste_ ** _ very good, but it gets you up and awake, and Falman’s is about as close as I can get to my brew without… well,  _ **_me_ ** _ making it. Second Lieutenant Havoc is in third place.” The Mst. Sgt’s face screws up as he says this. “Have you ever  _ **_had_ ** _ Havoc’s coffee? No, wait, here’s a better question. Have you ever bitten a bullet? That’s Havoc’s coffee. Breda would rank above Havoc, but he likes tea better than coffee, so he’s automatically disqualified.”  _

Fuery nodded his head at his own words, and skimmed through the rest of the team’s:

_ Col. Roy Mustang: “Sergeant Fuery makes the best coffee and our dear Lieutenant Hawkeye is unilaterally the worst.” Here, the young Colonel makes a face. “Brilliant sniper she may be, but sadly her skill with firearms doesn’t translate into a good coffee, you know? Havoc and I are probably about on par, and Falman makes a good cup too, if a bit weak.” Mustang laughs. “But then again, I’m an alchemist, so what do I know about  _ **_weak?_ ** _ ” He puts a finger to his chin, deep in thought. “Oh, I was forgetting Breda. Well, he likes tea, so as far as I’m concerned he can go walk off a sawed off pier.” _

_ 1st Lt. Riza Hawkeye: “It is quite obvious that the Colonel makes the worst coffee and Lt. Havoc makes the best.” _

_ 2nd Lt. Jean Havoc: “This’ll sound a bit strange, but Mustang’s coffee is honestly the best in my opinion. Everyone else makes some sorta weird shit, I like my coffee tasting nice and black, and if I’m not making it, then at least whatever the Colonel puts in there makes it taste black.” Havoc shrugs. “I don’t really have an opinion on anyone else, though Hawkeye’s coffee is some lethal shit, try it if you don’t mind risking a trip to the hospital.” He laughs, then gains a considering look on his face. “I think if Heymans actually bothered making coffee he’d probably be pretty good at it though, but he’s too concerned about his wimpy tea.” _

_ 2nd Lt. Heymans Breda: “Well, I don’t drink coffee, I don’t like the taste you see.” He shrugs, and turns his attention back to his shogi board. “But I can say that the Chief and Falman do make some good tea when they’re in the mood for it. Hawkeye too, which is surprising considering that she can’t brew coffee worth a shit.” _

Fuery raised an eye at Breda’s comments. Hawkeye, being  _ good  _ at brewing something? Even if it was  _ tea?  _ And what was that about the Colonel making a good cup of tea? He had basically said that Breda could go jump off of a cliff for all he cared for liking tea! Fuery thought about the discrepancy for a moment.

The Colonel likes coffee more than tea. He said that Breda could walk off of a short pier for liking tea. Breda said that Mustang could make good tea. Nope, nope, still didn’t make sense, did not compute!

“Hey Al,” He started, noting that Edward was still drowning himself in coffee (he wondered who’d made that pot. The nice secretary down in Reception maybe?) and mentally noting that he should  _ probably  _ go and cut him off, but resolving to not do so since the Colonel and his steadfast Lieutenant needed a taste of their own medicine. Kain was the only one without work his  _ ass _ , he still hadn’t worked out some of the radio signals Breda had given him to work on, let alone even  _ touched  _ the paperwork the Brass had sent out recently.

(“Oh great,  _ another  _ excuse to cut our paychecks? Fucking hell, give us a break, half the time our pay goes right back to the Brass anyways, why the fuck do  _ they  _ care?” Falman had uncharacteristically ranted to the Office at large, which had prompted Havoc to pay a rather large sum of cenz to a grinning Mustang after the rant had concluded)

“Yes Mast- er, Fuery?” It was honestly cute. A suit of armor shouldn’t be cute, but somehow Al managed it. He wanted to pat the boy on the head despite Al easily towering over him. 

“Just a question, what do you think of this?” He outlined the dilemma, pointing to relevant sections of the interviews. 

“Oh, it sounds like Colonel Mustang just prefers coffee to tea, but enjoys them both.” Fuery stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

“Come again?”

“Er, the Colonel likes them both, but has a stronger preference for coffee?” Al asked. Which… That wasn’t  _ how it worked dammit.  _ You liked either coffee or tea, none of this in between shit! 

“I see.” Still, he had to keep calm in front of the Elrics. “So, are the both of you ready to go? I think we’ve kept the Colonel waiting long enough.” Al nodded, and called over to Ed. 

“Brother, are you done satiating your coffee addiction yet?”

“Not an addiction Al!” Al winked at Kain. 

“It’s an addiction.” He whispered. Raising his voice, he called back (and now that Fuery thought about it, where had Ed gone, last he’d seen he’d still been guzzling coffee, but that  _ didn’t  _ mean he hadn’t left the room between then and now) “Anyways Brother, we’re going to meet with the Colonel now!” There was a grunt, presumably from Ed that Fuery couldn’t decipher the meaning of, but Al  _ could _ , and then the 6ft tall suit of armor clanked away, then came back in a minute or so with Edward pinned under Al’s arm. 

So much for being the elder brother.

Fuery pasted on his “ _ I can’t be bothered to deal with this shit today Colonel _ ” smile and guided them to Mustang’s office. 

And then Edward kicked the door in. Wait, no, not just in, but  _ off the hinges.  _

“That wasn’t my fault Hawkeye!” A chorus of voices rang out, one of them suspiciously belonging to Falman, and Fuery resolved to be careful around the door for the next few days. 

“I know men.” Hawkeye replied staidly. “That’s probably Edward.” There was the scraping of chair legs as she stood up, but Ed sauntered right on in, with Al on his heels stammering apologies. Fuery would have said something to warn the Fullmetal Alchemist, but honestly he just couldn’t be bothered to. 

So Ed got a scolding courtesy of Hawkeye, and then Mustang got a headache courtesy of Ed, and Fuery stepped in to cause the mother of all ruckuses in the Office.

“Roy Mustang likes both coffee and tea.” He said as he walked in. The office went silent. He swore he heard someone’s pen snap. 

“He what?” Havoc asked. Fuery simply nodded. “He likes them  _ both _ ? That’s, no. That’s- Oh  _ fuck _ , is  _ that  _ why my coffee keeps tasting all weird lately??” Fuery nodded again. Havoc cast a desperate eye around the room, trying to find comrades with whom to share his despair with.

He would likely find them in the outer office, since the inner office was curiously devoid of a reaction. Sure, Hawkeye wasn’t saying anything, but that was Hawkeye. Falman wasn’t occupied, but he was likely not trying to draw attention to himself, understandable at least, and Breda was simply  _ staring.  _

Maybe he just hadn’t heard him. Fuery cleared his throat.

“The Colonel-”

“I heard Fuery.” And then Breda stood up, did something that they had all agreed to  _ never  _ do, and walked into the annex room.

While the Colonel and Ed were still in.

_ While  _ they could hear  _ clearly  _ the shouting match they were having through the fucking  _ oak  _ door. 

A minute passed, and then two.

And then Fuery winced slightly as he heard a slam, a muffled, “Holy shit Lieutenant!” and a muffled groan. Then Breda walked back out, and sat back down at his desk.

“Will I need to file a report of assault on a superior officer 2nd Lieutenant?” Hawkeye asked.

“If the Fullmetal Boss doesn’t get one every time he smacks the Colonel, nor you when you pistol whip him, then I sure as hell won’t fill one out.” And then that was that. Fuery walked over to his desk, pulled out the radio and got back to work as yet  _ another  _ shouting match started to build up to a crescendo.

Oh, he had almost forgotten. He pulled out the article, and read Vato’s section.

_ W.O. Vato Falman: “I would say that 1st Lieutenant Havoc makes the best coffee. Disregarding 2nd Lieutenant Hawkeye, I would say that Master Sergeant Fuery makes the worst. It’s far too flowery for my taste. The Colonel’s coffee is fine, but it’s really just there to wake you up is all. I wouldn’t want to voluntarily drink it all day. 2nd Lieutenant Breda makes good tea, but I prefer oolong to black, so we don’t tend to overlap on our preferences there. Surprisingly, the Colonel makes a very good oolong tea.” _

So. He was going to get his revenge on Falman soon. He just didn’t know when.

“Is that the weekly article about brews?” Falman asked from his desk, leaning over slightly. “You should go pin it up.” Fuery would rather tell him to go jump off a cliff, but he was going to be  _ mature  _ and not have a  _ cow  _ over it.

“In a minute, I just have to decode this last part.” Okay, maybe he’d do a little correction first.

Or five.

When he finally did pin it up to the communal corkboard, Kain had starred his own paragraph, and used a red pen to draw “X”s around everyone else’s. 

For Falman’s he’d written: “Go eat shit :)” right below. 

Because Kain was petty like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally basically fall into Roy and Vato’s camp. I like both, but I prefer coffee. That being said, for the love of God, if you make tea (especially floral or citrusy teas) in the same vessel where someone is going to make coffee, wash that shit out first, and vice versa. No one wants to taste a weird fusion of tea and coffee first thing in the morning. Or like, ever actually. (Or I mean, if you do, that’s fine. You’re wrong, but that’s fine.)
> 
> Also, the office’s layout: There’s an outer office comprised of people who aren’t the main team, they’re pretty much all privates, and they cycle in and out pretty quickly. They only do paperwork except for very rare times when Roy needs more than just the team for an assignment (like say with Scar). It’s partitioned off from the inner office. The inner office is actually a two room area, and is where the main door to the office leads, the bigger area is the inner office where the team stays. The other room (the annex room) is Roy’s personal office.
> 
> (Also, one day I will figure out AO3 end note placement without having to wake up in the middle of the night 5 days later going: "oh shit I put the chapter end note in the work end note section again didn't I")


	4. Rumor #3 - Nitrogen Bonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maes Hughes once caused (indirectly) the collapse of an entire section of Eastern Command. 
> 
> And got away with it.
> 
> (This one's a little more chem focused, but it should still be enjoyable for any of my non chem majors out there, and wow 2 updates in a month? Absolutely preposterous)
> 
> Warning: Roy gets heavily drunk in this chapter, so if you're uncomfortable with that, I'd suggest not reading any further

Maes normally knows better than to goad Roy to drink. This isn’t because Roy is a lightweight or anything, it’s because when Roy _does_ get drunk he starts to… well, for lack of a better term… _experiment_.

Normally though, this wouldn’t be a problem. Maes would get a few shots into his surly best friend, get fucking smashed himself, and then call Riza to deal with the damages. It was a plan that worked well enough as long as Riza didn’t end up drinking with them or Roy got drunk first. Everybody generally went home happy (for more reasons than just being buzzed in Roy and Riza's case).

But for this night in particular, Maes is not in the mood to drink. Roy however, clearly is. Maes doesn’t know why his best friend's so desperate to lose himself in his cups tonight, but he goads him on all the same because  _ what else  _ are best friends for if not to encourage shitty decisions, and suddenly Roy is absolutely  _ smashed  _ while Maes is still nursing his first glass of whiskey.

“Hey Maes.” Roy says in that tone that usually means that something somewhere is about to blow up. “Y’know, I’ve been… I’ve been  _ thinking. _ ” He slurs out. “My alchemy… It can be better right?” Maes nods slowly.

“If you say so Roy, I’m not one for your freak defying the laws of reality bullshit.”

“Shut the-... the  _ fuck up  _ Maes.” Roy aims a punch for Maes’ arm and fails miserably. Hughes rolls his eyes. “Anyways, the Brass were sayin’ that I could pack a bigger… bigger… bigger  _ punch.  _ And then I gots to thinkin’!” Roy draped himself over Maes’ shoulders and it really took a lot out of him to  _ not  _ snap a picture.

Oh how the mighty  _ fucking fall Roy.  _

“Uhuh.”

“So…! I gots to thinkin’ right? And I… I uh, I  _ membered  _ hearin’ Lucas, you know, Nitro? Big boomy blasts? Like Kimblee but not fucking crazytown?” Oh he  _ knows  _ Lucas. In fact, Lucas is the reason why Maes is in no mood for drinks tonight.

(Really, why couldn’t the man keep his affairs  _ out  _ of the workplace? Maes had had to  _ witness  _ that fucking  _ travesty _ and it had put him completely off of imbibing copious amounts of booze lest he _remind_ himself of Lucas)

"Yeah." Hughes says, with a bit more force behind the word than is practically necessary. Not that Roy is in any state to realize that of course.

"So I goes, if you get big blasts from nitro… nitro… the  _ stuff _ ! Then all's I have to do is add  _ more  _ of it together and then—" he made a strange gesture with his hands, reminiscent of packing together a paper ball, but if those motions had also included large amounts of flailing and moving a finger in the air like you were trying to write something. 

"Sounds interesting Roy." Well, it  _ was  _ interesting. Interesting from  _ afar  _ of course. Maes had absolutely no desire to play ball with whatever frankensteined together horror array Roy had come up with. 

"It ish!" Roy slurred, then he  _ giggled.  _ Maes paused. 

Roy didn't  _ giggle _ . Or rather, if he did, that was the sign that everything was about to go straight to hell and there was nothing you could do but pray that you got out of it alive and with all your limbs intact. 

Maes was not a holy man.

He still sent up a brief prayer anyways because he might as well get all the protection he could. "Maes," Roy said, though it sounded more like "Maaaaize", "Did you know, that the nitro...uh, the stuff Lucas uses doesn't like to stay together?" Hughes didn't like where this conversation was going.

"I didn't know that Roy." Maes briefly wondered if he would hazard pay as compensation for Roy's antics.

He probably wouldn't. Not that he blamed the guys and gals who decided that, if they had to pay out hazard pay to anyone who had to deal with alchemical bullshit, Amestris would be flat broke within 6 months time.

Roy grins lopsidedly, and starts to talk, but all that comes out is incomprehensible nonsense. Apparently Roy could still pick up on the blank, lost gaze Maes was wearing though, because he abruptly stopped and started drawing.

And Hughes suddenly felt like slamming back three bottles of vodka at once. 

Roy was drawing chemistry models. Not just  _ any _ ones though. Maes recognized it as an isowurtzitane model, and he silently stared at the strange 3D shape Roy drew as horror began to dawn on him.

In the tiny little cage Roy had drawn on the napkin, there were no carbons. There were only nitrogens.  _ Six _ of them, and they were all bonded to each other.

Maes was torn between being impressed, and running the  _ fuck away. _

And there was a tiny part of him, one he thought he had buried after the Academy that went: "I wonder what would happen if Roy used that in his array." And then Maes belatedly realized that by the smile on his best friend's face, he had said that  _ out loud _ .

And then Roy was a blur of motion, and before Maes knew it, he was alone.

Which meant Roy has stuck him with the  _ bill _ . Hughes sighed, took out a fist of bills and dumped them on the table. He didn't have the  _ energy _ for this shit.

And then he went to go rescue his best friend (hopefully  _ before _ he got charged with domestic terrorism).

* * *

He found Roy at Eastern Command. More specifically, he found him humming to himself while rigging the shit out of Hakuro's office. 

While Maes could appreciate the efficiency (and Roy's subconscious desire to blow Hakuro to high heaven), he really needed to stop this before Roy got locked up.

"Wait!" Roy whispered.

" _ What  _ **_now_ ** Roy?" Maes sighed exasperatedly.

"The compound ish  _ delicate _ ." Roy emphasized, waving his hand wildly. "If you do somethin… sumthin wrong you… you'll cause it to blow up?" Maes couldn't believe his ears. First Roy ran off to go rig Hakuro's office to blow up.  _ Now  _ he was saying that Maes couldn't _ de _ rig it because it might go  _ off?!  _

Fucking  _ nitrogen _ compounds…

"Alright… so we just have to get it to a more stable state then, how do we do that Roy?" 

"It gets more stable if you add TNT." Of fucking  _ course _ it did! Why not! Why fucking not?! Maes gave his best friend a look and sighed. They weren't going to get TNT on any timely basis, so derigging it manually was going to be the way to go. 

"How much of this stuff did you even use?" Maes asked, staring at the copious amounts of wires literring the office space.

"I synthes... uh, made 5— uh—"

"5 tonnes?" Maes asked with alarm.

"No! Psh, silly why would I need that much? I only made like... 5 uh... what's the measurement that's super tiny, starts with an M?"

"Miligrams?" Maes asked feeling faint. Roy nodded. "Then what's with all the wires?"

"Aesthetics?" Roy asked distantly, and Maes felt his headache evolve into a migrane. It got worse when he realized that Roy had blacked out, and that he was going to have to drag him out of the line of fire.

* * *

He couldn't see any more wires, which _probably_ meant that he was done derigging the place. Hopefully.

Maes felt his boot hit the floor oddly. Then he looked on what he stepped on.

A small metal plate that was now depressed into the floor that had a wire leading away from it.

It was official. This was the  _ worst day ever. _

Maes sighed, lifted his foot, then booked it out of there, thanking whatever had possessed him to drag Roy outside before he had attempted any derigging.

_ 1 second. 2 seconds.  _ Hughes heard the explosion. 

And then he  _ felt  _ it, heat just  _ running  _ across his back and the backs of his arms and knees and legs. 

When he collapsed onto the cool grass outside, he turned over and stared at the empty night sky.

"Terrorists did this. Not me." He said, then repeated it almost religiously for a few seconds. 

Then he sat up, and maneuvered Roy upright. They were going to need to be in a  _ very  _ special position and place if they wanted to be off the hook. Luckily for them, Maes knew a place or two to do just that. They had about 10 minutes before anyone came onto the scene, so they’d have to move fast. For once, Hakuro’s giant ego had worked in their favor. If it had been any other section other than Hakuro’s relatively isolated little fiefdom, he and Roy would have been screwed. "Alright buddy, let's get moving." He whispered, coaxing Roy to stay upright and continue following him.

* * *

"Mornin' Boss, Hughes." Breda greeted as he walked in the door.

He was met with groaning and a huff of annoyance. His eyes scanned Mustang's absolutely wrecked form, and he concluded that the man was suffering from a wicked hangover. "Shouldn't Hawkeye have cut him off?" He directed the question to Hughes.

"We went alone." He said, and Breda nodded his head. 

"Gotcha. Well, hopefully the Boss feels well soon, because word is that they want his help in investigating whoever blew up Hakuro's office. Well, the office and the whole ass hall leading away from it, but by the way Hakuro bitches you'd think he was the only one affected!" Breda noticed that Hughes winced at that, not that he knew why.

Okay, he could certainly pry, but there were some things you just didn't pry into.

(But he  _ did  _ want to know the reason why the Eastern Command was targeted and if those two had answers then-)

"Breda, I'm using my get-out-of-jail free card." Hughes said solemnly. Breda stared at him. Hughes stared back.

"You  _ s _ ure you wanna waste your 1 "Breda won't dig deeper" secret on this?"

"Trust me, if you knew the specifics, you wouldn't call it a waste. But yes, I'm using it. And don't bother interrogating Roy, he always forgets everything when he gets drunk. " Well there really wasn't anything to do about  _ that _ . If Hughes was gonna pull out the big guns then all Breda could do was respect that and go to work.

* * *

Maes breathed a sigh of relief as Breda left him alone. At least there were some things working in his favor, but hell if he wasn’t going to have to do his level best to obscure all the evidence of what he and Roy had been up to last night.

(Roy would probably balk at that, the bleeding heart he was, but Maes had no such hang ups about making the corrupt system work for him)

“Well, I’ll see you later Roy.” Maes said, hopping off his friend’s desk (which reminded him that he needed to requisition one like it for himself, that thing was fucking  _ heaven sent _ ) as Havoc and Hawkeye walked in, each holding steaming cups of coffee. “Who made the brew?”

“Fuery.” Hawkeye replied as Havoc was preoccupied with drinking from his mug. 

“Guess I’m popping down there then before I catch my train.”

“Before you head out Lieutenant Colonel, the Brass wanted a word with you.”

“She means Hakuro was screaming for you to  _ get your ass down there _ .” Havoc supplied with a smile. “Apparently the explosion last night got the recording equipment all busted, so all the tapes from the past week are just gone. All melted. That bomb must’ve been big to even reach into the Records room.” Havoc paused. "Actuall wait, did they target Hakuro's office because his was right next to the Records room in his wing of Command? Damn, they must've been planning this for _ages._ "

“Electronics is  _ not  _ my department, I work in Investigations.” Maes said blankly, wondering why Hakuro was even asking for him. He didn't bother to address Jean's theory because _no._ “Did he confuse me for Fuery?  _ Again? _ ”

“Hawkeye tried clarifying, but he wasn’t listening. I mean, not that Fuery could even get anything out of it, I mean what’s the kid gonna do? Magic the tapes back into working conditions? Shit’s slag now.” Hawkeye cast a baleful eye over Havoc, not that the man even had the good grace to blush. “And I mean, it’s Hakuro, what the hell do you mean by again? The answer to that is always  _ yes. _ ” Roy let out another fitful groan, and Havoc cast an arrogant look over at his boss— something that was markedly likely to shorten Havoc’s lifespan, but Maes wasn’t about to stop him— and grinned. “Looks like you got a bit deep into the cups last night huh Chief?”

“Havoc if you do not shut your mouth I will tear your spine out of your back and use it as the handle for a mop.”

“If you don’t keel over from too bright lights or something first.” Jean snickered. “Anyways, it looks like there is a giant pile of paperwork for me to do, so I’ll be off.” Havoc exited the annex room and (deliberately) slammed the door behind him.

Roy let out another groan, and Riza raised an eyebrow.

“You two went out drinking again?”

“Yeah, Roy got drunker than me for once.”

“And you didn’t call me why?” She asked. Maes shrugged.

“It was too hilarious to watch to end it by calling you over. Don’t worry, I dragged him to a burner apartment before he could do any damage.” 

“And neither of you had anything to do with the explosion from last night?”

“Not a thing.” Maes lied through his teeth. Riza’s eyes narrowed, and Maes felt himself start to sweat. A second passed. Then 2. Then 5, and Riza relaxed. 

“You should go see what Hakuro is calling you for, if he even means you in the first place. I’ll stay with him until he gets sobered up.” 

“How does he even confuse Fuery and me? We don’t even work in the same  _ province! _ ” Maes exclaimed, wincing only  _ slightly  _ as Roy glared at him through the gap between his arm and the desk. “Hakuro is such an asshole...” Maes grumbled. “Well, you two lovebirds have fun, I’m off to go face the beast.” Maes didn’t stick around for the customary “but we’re not dating Hughes!” exclamations, instead sweeping through the office and taking his sweet sweet time to get to Hakuro, stopping by the break room to grab a coffee to dely himself even more.

And then he had to go face the beast.

“You!” The man bellowed, really, would it kill him to use an inside voice? “Hughes! Have you got any intel on the group that did this?”

Now, this requset was unreasonable for serveral reasons: 

  1. It was currently 9 AM. 
  2. Maes had (officially) been in the base since 8 AM.
  3. The explosion had happened last night, how was he meant to have gathered any intel within the past _hour_ , let alone the 10 minutes he had officially been on base for?
  4. The _Records room was melted_ so even if he could have gathered any intel, it would have been reduced to _slag._



but it was interesting for several _others_ :

  1. Hakuro had said _group_ , not person, or hell even duo.
  2. If Hakuro's was the prevailing opinion then Maes and Roy had _gotten away with it._
  3. Even if it wasn't, no one had any proof that they had did it because there _was_ no intel to gather
  4. No one had said anything about the explosion being of alchemical origin (though to be fair, only the explosive was, not the actual detonation)



Maes blinked because he couldn’t believe that this shit was  _ real _ . He and Roy were going to get away with it. 

“No, I haven’t yet General.” Maes said smoothly. “I’ll be right on it as soon as I get back to Central Command however.” They were gonna get away with this. Hakuro looked apopleptic. 

“What do you mean get back to Central Command!? You work  _ here! _ ”

“No, I work for Investigations in Central.” He wanted to punch Hakuro in the face so  _ badly _ , if only it wouldn’t get him court martialed… “My apologies General, but I really must get back to Central post-haste if I’m to get my team in action.” He grinned and started walking away, picking up speed as Hakuro called after him.

* * *

He didn’t know how it started. 

He had just been talking about the case of the “mysterious explosion” to his team when suddenly the next thing he knew was that the prevailing rumor about the explosion was that _he_ had been involved in it. Granted, the rumor hadn’t said that he was the perpetrator, just that he was covering for them.

So what was the apparent reason why he was abusing his power and position and risking a court-martial to cover for a terrorist?

He had gotten sick and tired of General Hakuro confusing him and Master Sergeant Fuery from Eastern Command.

Well, if he  _ was  _ going to do such a thing, at least the reasoning was solid. He had to applaud whoever started the rumor for coming up with a plausible motive, though he was going to have to dock points for believing that he’d risk losing his job to cover for a terrorist.

Really, he was best friends with the  _ Flame Alchemist _ , why didn’t the rumor say that he was covering for  _ Roy _ ? Well, it wasn’t his job to add fuel to the growing dumpster fire, so he decided to let sleeping dogs lie and hope that the rumor died out quickly.

That clearly wasn't in the cards though, since when Alex “informed” (read: spent 2 hours alternatively weeping over someone “slandering him” and crowing about something about how gossip mongering had been passed down the Armstrong family line for generations) him of the “new” rumor rapidly spreading around the base, the only thing Maes could do was laugh and tell him that the rumor was about 2 weeks old by that point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the blog Things I Won’t Work With, specifically the entry about Hexanitrohexaazaisowurtzitane, you’ll recognize a few choice quotes from there in this fic.
> 
> (Also feel free to come chat about Team Mustang shenanigans on my Tumblr, @writ-eissel)


End file.
